


Broken

by PunishedPyotr



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: D/s, Dissociation, Light Bondage, M/M, Night Terrors, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex Toys, Sex as Therapy, dispassionate handjob, reupload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedPyotr/pseuds/PunishedPyotr
Summary: "I'll do it.""W-What?""I said I'll do it. People find worse ways to cope."





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> (haha oh wow the original author's notes for this... back when aireyv hadn't so thoroughly established thier "liquid got raped as a pow" headcanon, and hadn't written so much liquidmantis..... wow......... the good ol days -pp)  
> (also apparently this was a kink meme prompt that aireyv left and no one filled so they just did it themselves? sick)

The pain didn’t even matter.

Yes, it hurt, and it hurt badly, an unlubed cock shoving in and out of his raw, bleeding asshole. It hurt worse when it tore. And it hurt, too, when they used his mouth instead of his ass, bruising his throat and cutting off his air supply, and as he vomited afterwards, semen and bile out of an empty stomach, that stung too. And the ropes around his wrists, wrenching his arms behind him and immobilizing them - they hurt, because even though he knew it was hopeless he still strained against them even as it ripped up his skin; and his legs, as well, they were in enough agony that they almost outweighed everything else being done to him ever since one of his captors had taken a sledgehammer to his femurs because if he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t escape. He couldn’t even kick. He couldn’t offer any resistance when they spread his broken legs, even though their rough gripping hands _hurt_.

But it didn’t matter.

It was the fact that he was immobilized that got to him more than the pain. Pain wasn’t anything to concern himself with - he could take it, he could _more_ than take it, he always could. What was this, other than torture? Pain, humiliation… didn’t matter to him. They rolled off of him like the water he desperately wished he could have, to slake his thirst, to clean himself, to drown himself. No, pain and humiliation didn’t matter to him at all but the fact that he couldn’t fight back when he was _made_ to fight back was- frustrating. But that wouldn’t break him either.

It was the lack of control that was doing that.

He could handle not being in control of what was going on around him or what other people did to him, because there were precious few times in his life that he _had_ been able to control that. But even then, up until now he’d always at least had control over his own body.

They stripped that from him. They took away that control with every rough, uncaring jerk of a calloused hand against his dick. It didn’t feel good at all, in fact it was the furthest thing from it, but some crawling, visceral thing in him begged for release anyway.

That was what he couldn’t stand.

That was what ruined him.

* * *

 Liquid woke up with a start.

He sat up quickly, gasping silently, his heart hammering and his whole body in “I won’t let you hurt me” overdrive. But there wasn’t anyone here, no one who was going to attack him and no one for him to attack.

Right. This wasn’t a POW camp in Iraq. It was the FOXHOUND headquarters, in America. Specifically, it was his private quarters, the ones he’d earned via-à-vis his recent commandership.

He blinked hard, forcing his hands to unclench. Right. Just a dream.

His heart was still pounding, and his breathing still off enough that he was starting to feel a little dizzy, and the memories of - of _the dream, it was just a dream_ were excruciatingly vivid. He could still _taste_ it in his mouth, salty and bitter and foul, and feel the shadows of violence under his skin. It _hurt_. He felt like throwing up.

Slowly, Liquid ran his hands through his hair. Somehow, more than his dark surroundings, that helped to ground him. He kept his hair long (even though, as others pointed out, it was far too easy for it to be grabbed or caught on things) not simply because he thought it was a good look for him, and not simply because it differentiated him from his father, but because at times like this, when he… _remembered_ , it drew him back to the present. _They_ ’d cut off his hair. Kept it short the whole time was trapped there - three, almost four years. With his fingers tangled in the long strands, it was easy to think about how much time had passed since then.

Years. Many years, and many inches of hair. It had been longer _since_ than he’d endured.

There was a soft knock on the door.

Liquid didn’t say anything, didn’t trust his voice not to shake. That was fine - the knock was less a request for invitation in and more a gentle warning that he would come in.

“You were screaming in your sleep again,” Mantis said, standing in the doorway.

Liquid’s hands fell away from his hair. “It’s fine. I’m awake now.”

Even though it was dark, Liquid still knew Mantis was giving him a critical look under his mask. “You won’t be able to get back to sleep tonight.”

“…” Liquid turned away. Mantis was the only one who knew, aside from the doctors who had treated him after he’d been rescued, and he supposed that anyone with access to his medical records would be able to put two and two together - but there was a difference between knowing and _knowing_ and Mantis was the only one who _knew_ , and he only knew because he knew everything and Liquid couldn’t hide anything from him. Liquid felt nothing but shame at what happened, shame and horror, and even if Mantis was sympathetic without pitying him and had expressed, repeatedly, that he wanted to help… it still couldn’t change the fact that Liquid was utterly repulsed with himself that that had even _happened_ to him despite his best efforts.

So even if Mantis was the one person Liquid ever willingly let his guard down around, here there was still one thing he smothered in spite and bravado and all the sensitivity of a particularly angry brick wall. “I’m fine, Mantis. You may go.”

“E-“ Mantis stopped. He knew Liquid was in no mood for that name. Still he started again, “Liquid, you-“

“Go.”

There was a brief pause. The rasping of Mantis’ breathing changed a bit as he took in a long breath, clearly willing himself to stay calm with Liquid. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“It will never get better like this.”

Liquid grit his teeth. “I know.”

“I _can_ help, if you let me.”

There was a long pause as Liquid stewed in that. Then he said something he never had before, no matter how many disjointed half-conversations they had about this: “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

Liquid was, as a matter of personality, ornery and prone to dramatic mood swings. He brooded all through the next day and sometime after the sun went down, confronted Mantis in an otherwise empty corner of the building.

“How can you help me,” he said, a flat statement instead of a question.

“That is something you have to decide,” Mantis replied.

Liquid, clearly dissatisfied with that answer, crossed his arms and glared.

Liquid’s moods could be told as easily as the weather (and with the same amount of predictability). It mostly had to do with how much he was talking. Normally, he was talkative - he had opinions on everything, even things that didn’t matter and had nothing do with him, and he wanted them to be heard. He spoke his mind, always. But he _did_ know when to stop, when to shut up. When he was _upset_ , he didn’t. Get him worked up over something and he’d start to monologue unceasingly - and that was if he was trying to stay composed, which he usually did. But if there was enough emotion running amok in his system, he’d start to speak faster, almost too quickly to be understood, and stumble over his words, and there was one time Mantis had witnessed him get so angry he kept forgetting phrases in English and switching languages mid-sentence.

Sometimes he got depressed. That was rarest, and best-hidden, but jarring when noticed. He’d shut down completely, withdraw into himself, and every word he said he had to force out of his mouth. Liquid called Mantis to his office the next night.

“What,” he said, “am I supposed to decide?”

“You need to decide what is wrong with you.”

Liquid’s face twitched, a momentary scowl. “What?”

Mantis gave him an impassive look. “I cannot _fix_ something if you cannot tell me what’s _broken_.”

Every time Liquid had a nightmare Mantis knew. He couldn’t have ignored them if he wanted to. They’d gotten less frequent over the years, and that was good, but they hadn’t gone away completely and now that Liquid was mulling over Mantis’ vague offer of help, he often went to sleep with thoughts of _what happened back then in Iraq_ in his head, and that lead to terrible dreams. Mantis couldn’t be sure if the nausea he felt whenever Liquid’s night terrors forced their way into his head was his own - it was so _disgusting_ , and to think that such a reprehensible thing had been _forced_ onto the one person Mantis cared about- but maybe Liquid’s emotions were just leaking over the psychic bond and affecting Mantis physically. Liquid stopped him in the hallway just after 2100 hours.

“Do you mean I need to identify what’s- the worst of it?” he said.

“Something like that,” Mantis said. He didn’t overlook the missed beat in Liquid’s question.

Liquid’s eyebrows drew together. “And then what?”

“What do you want?”

“What?”

“What do you want?” Mantis said, slower this time.

“You tell me, you’re the psychic,” Liquid said, annoyed, but not annoyed enough to abort the conversation.

Mantis waved his hand dismissively. “Liquid, the fact that you are terrible at communicating your emotions is not a handicap for me, but I cannot do anything unless _you_ know what you want me to do. You have to actually think about it.”

There was a pause. Liquid shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I don’t _want_ to think about it.”

“I know.”

Liquid wasn’t a man who just _got over_ things - every bad thing that ever happened to him (of which there was plenty, starting with his conception) he let marinate in rage for years. Forgiveness wasn’t a word in his vocabulary, and neither was acceptance. He was driven by revenge, and to that end he really couldn’t _afford_ to let go of anything that happened to him.

But things were different with this, partly because he blamed himself in some strange way for ‘allowing’ it to happen to him, but mostly because he’d _gotten_ his vengeance. Every soldier at that camp, he had eventually killed. It was a bloodbath. Liquid, half-dead and pushed long past his breaking point, finally had a chance to strike back and he seized it hard even though the ultimate result was that he’d almost died of dehydration afterwards, being unable to walk even across the camp for water. But the ones who had brutalized him, in particular, had died a terrible death - baking in the desert sun, eaten alive by carrion beasts - and Liquid knew he might share their fate but in that moment his need to make them _suffer_ for what they had _done_ outweighed any other goal.

But it hadn’t helped. They were all dead but Liquid still struggled with his trauma and Mantis was left to pick up the pieces. He did so dutifully, even though Liquid still tried to pretend that he never fell apart like that. Even in front of Mantis, he couldn’t admit that. He was a man of spite and _strength_ and even though he knew Mantis already had a very intimate, first-hand knowledge of the weak, soft, and vulnerable parts of him, he still couldn’t bring himself to bare himself.

Liquid was lying on the roof, looking up at the stars. He didn’t react when Mantis appeared out of thin air.

He had an idea.

Mantis swallowed hard.

“…is it… ridiculous?” Liquid said eventually, pointedly not turning his head to look at Mantis.

Mantis took a breath before answering. “No,” he said, “although perhaps it is a little… strange.”

“Disgusting, you mean.”

“I care less about the act itself and more about the reasons behind it.”

“Hn.”

There was a pause. Mantis felt kind of awkward, and he could hear Liquid feeling a mortified regret at the idea even occurring to him in the first place.

“It’s the loss of control that traumatized you,” Mantis said softly, and although he was addressing Liquid he was mostly speaking to himself, “and you wish to gain that control back, or at least come to terms with having lost it in the first place, by wilfully surrendering that same control over to someone else. …interesting.”

“Someone I trust,” Liquid clarified, still embarrassed, “and you’re the only one I trust that much, Mantis. No one else comes even close.”

“I know. I… understand.”

There was another pause, longer this time. Liquid covered his face with one hand, sighing. He was pointlessly wishing he could undo that part of his past, if nothing else. Or, at the very least, he could undo communicating this stupid, stupid- _fantasy_ to Mantis.

“I’ll do it,” Mantis said.

“W-What?”

“I said I’ll do it. People find worse ways to cope.”

* * *

 He would huddle in the corner of his cell and wish he’d never parted ways with Mantis.

It was stupid, of course, to think that his leaving - Mantis’ leaving - had any direct correlation to being trapped here. But he wouldn’t be here if they were still together, he was sure of that.

He was also painfully sure of the fact that he’d reached his limit. This was as far as he could go. This was as much as he could take. He had no hope of escaping, not unless one of his captors seriously screwed up and he was able to take advantage of it, and with each passing day and each lost kilo, that seemed more and more unlikely. His best bet was that some brass in the coalition would decide to go ahead and bomb this place, turn this desert into glass, Lord have mercy on the hostages but they aren’t coming home.

He’d die. It had been a long time since he last wished for that - a long time, seven years, he wasn’t even in his twenties yet - and he hated himself for wanting death. There was still so much he wanted, _needed_ to do and he could feel it burning in his chest-

But it was hopeless, wasn’t it? He would die here, and the sooner the better because it felt like all the parts of him that had carried him through life so far had already been killed.

He wished Mantis would come for him.

* * *

 Liquid sat on the edge of the bed, with his usual confident posture and expression, but Mantis knew he was feeling nervous. He didn’t even have to read his mind to tell that - he was so familiar with Liquid’s mannerisms that he easily picked up on the subtle tension in his face and shoulders, and the way his legs were closer together than how he usually sat, and how he was eyeing the ominous cloth bag Mantis had brought to Liquid’s quarters.

“I don’t suppose,” he drawled, “those are rose petals and candles in there.”

Mantis rolled his eyes. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“Mantis, I- er, actually… what if…“

“Oh, I’ll stop if it gets to be too much for you. But after this point, it will be for me and only me to decide whether or not you are at your limit. Do you still wish to continue?”

Liquid skipped straight to silence, looking down and pressing his hands together between his knees. His mind was in turmoil. He nodded.

Mantis jerked his chin. “Strip,” he said.

A half-moment’s hesitation, then he did as ordered. The shirt came off easily; that was to be expected, Liquid was always two seconds away from taking it off at any given moment. He was a bit slower about his boots. Mantis watched without comment. Liquid’s hands shook ever so slightly as he unbuckled his belt.

Even though Mantis knew tonight of all nights was a good time to be patient, he still got tired of waiting and took off Liquid’s belt and pants and underwear for him. (At least he had the decency to use his hands to do it instead of his mind. As much as Liquid was used to it, psychokinesis was unnerving and alien on an animal level for anyone who did not have it.) Liquid flushed as he did so, embarrassed, and Mantis could almost hear the shivery, prickling feeling crawling up his body at someone else disrobing him - a prelude to arousal, and an almost Pavlovian reaction, one that Liquid did not enjoy.

Mantis cast a disinterested eye over Liquid’s naked body as the latter very deliberately showed no sign of self-consciousness or vulnerability, outside of his red face. He had far less scars than Mantis, and many of them were faded past the point of being visible between the poor lighting and the tinted lenses of Mantis’ gas mask. Mantis could still pinpoint the ones he’d acquired during his time in Iraq, though - the remnants of torture. That was before they figured out that torture wouldn’t break him. That was before they’d found another way.

“You’re staring,” Liquid muttered, not quite looking at Mantis’ face.

“Mm. Turn around and kneel.”

Again, a half-moment’s hesitation before Liquid did as Mantis said. Mantis took hold of his wrists - Liquid flinched, just slightly, but neither of them cared to remark on it - and pulled them behind his back, wrapping a square of soft fabric from the bag around them.

“What’s the cloth for?” Liquid said, his voice edging on carefully controlled nervousness.

“I do not want you hurting yourself,” Mantis said as a nylon rope snaked from the bag and around Liquid’s wrists, then knotted, “or leaving a mark.”

“So you assume I’ll be pulling against this,” Liquid said, doing exactly that, but only experimentally. Mantis squeezed his arm warningly where he was holding it, and Liquid stopped, swallowing, disconcerted by the relatively normal interaction. Considering he was naked and now tied up, he would have expected the dynamic between them to… change, somehow.

“Oh, hush,” Mantis said, running his hands up to Liquid’s shoulders and feeling Liquid tense underneath his fingers. “I’m only doing this as a favor.”

“Of course. I-I owe you, Mantis. Anything you ask.”

“You do anything I ask anyway, where’s the fun in it? …lean forward.”

Liquid reflexively tried to lie down on his stomach, but Mantis caught him by the hips - Liquid flinched again, more noticeably this time. “Relax,” Mantis told him as he pulled him back on his knees, leaving him head-down-ass-up, arms tied behind his back, blushing face awkwardly smooshed against the mattress.

Liquid was uncomfortable, Mantis knew. But… that _was_ kind of the point here: to work through that discomfort. He rubbed Liquid’s lower back soothingly. “There is no need to be anxious.”

“I’m not,” Liquid lied.

“I’ll be gentle with you.”

“…”

He trailed his hands down, over Liquid’s ass and to his thighs, listening to his breathing go uneven. He traced his fingers over the scars there, ones that were very different from every other scar Liquid had, the result of reconstructive surgery after he’d been recovered. (They had told him he’d never walk again. Liquid didn’t listen. He never did.) Then he spread Liquid’s legs, not forcibly but not gingerly either, and Liquid made a strange little noise in his throat, somewhere between a stifled scream and a whimper.

“Eli,” Mantis said extremely patiently from where his hands were being crushed between Liquid’s thighs.

“D-Don’t call me that.”

“Spread your legs, Eli, and don’t argue with me.”

Liquid huffed, hiding his face against the bedsheets. He relaxed enough to let Mantis pull his legs apart and cuff the spreader bar to his knees. Liquid swallowed hard again. He still felt like arguing. He also felt like getting up and running away, although that would be a little difficult now that his legs were restrained as well. Then again, if he put any half-serious effort into it, he could probably bend or break the bar - he realized that, but as uneasy as he was, he decided against it.

“Good boy,” Mantis said, patting him on the leg. Liquid scoffed into the sheets.

Mantis sat on the bed next to Liquid, tucking his legs under him and curling his fingers into Liquid’s hair, tugging just slightly so that Liquid didn’t have his face pressed against the mattress anymore. Liquid grumbled as Mantis psychically retrieved a blindfold from the bag and secured it over his eyes.

“What’s the point of this, then?” he muttered.

“So you cannot see what I am doing,” Mantis said, the hand that wasn’t in Liquid’s hair tracing its way across his side, “or if I decided to invite someone…”

Liquid’s heartrate quickened in something like fear. “Mantis, you’re not-“

“Of course I am not being serious. Why would I do that to you?” He lowered his voice, leaning forward so his head was closer to Liquid’s ear: “Besides, I don’t like to share.”

Liquid shifted uncomfortably, and with some difficulty. “This is going to turn into a power trip for you, isn’t it?”

“I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.” He started twisting his forearms against the rope, and stilled when Mantis put a hand over them. “You have, however, well established yourself as a psychopath.”

“I’m no worse than you.” And, steeling himself and figuring the situation had already _long_ gone past any salvageable sense of propriety, Mantis found Liquid’s dick with one hand and gave it a quick tug. Liquid gasped, then bit his lip and his hips jerked involuntarily as Mantis did it again. His head was spinning. He made a low groan, and Mantis shushed him.

“Keep your voice down. Someone may hear you, walk in, and see you in this state.”

Liquid took in a shuddering breath, pressing his face against the sheets again. “You… you locked the d-door, didn’t you?” he stammered, his voice muffled.

“Of course I did, but how many people here would that really stop?”

Liquid grit his teeth as Mantis continued the rather dispassionate stroking of his cock. After a minute, he whimpered, now fully hard and breathing a little more erratically than he probably should have been.

“It’s alright, Eli,” Mantis said, running his free hand through Liquid’s hair again.

“N-No… oh god, Mantis…”

“Shh.”

He let go of his dick and slipped on a leather cockring from the bag. Liquid shifted uncomfortably again. Mantis rubbed his back. “There,” he said, “now you’re ready.”

“R-Ready? Ready for- ah- aah…!!” He jumped at the slick coolness of the lube being applied to his ass. He hadn’t been expecting it because he could feel where Mantis’ hands were - one resting on his head, one on his shoulders - and Mantis wasn’t using his hands to apply the stuff. In a clearer state of mind he would have noticed the rustle of the cloth bag or the pop of the cap behind him, but that wasn’t the case right now. “M-Mantis, what…”

“I am being gentle with you.”

“Damn it, that’s- not-“ he cut himself off, whining as the tip of the toy pressed against him. It was barely thicker than a finger. Mantis felt him shiver, briefly.

“Relax,” he said softly, brushing away a bit of hair where it had fallen on his cheek.

Liquid shook his head.

Mantis pulled his head into his lap, sighing and still stroking his hair, knowing that for now, that would be enough to keep him from experiencing a full-blown flashback. “ _Relax_ , Eli. You wanted this, remember?”

“Yes,” Liquid said haltingly, wanting this, not wanting this, wanting to want this. He didn’t offer much resistance as the toy slid in, but he did moan.

He’d need a few moments to adjust. Of course, he was getting edgier and edgier just kneeling there, painfully aware of how this must _look_. It was humiliating, and Mantis heard him repeatedly remind himself that the only other person in the room was he.

Mantis pre-emptively put his hand over Liquid’s mouth (prompting a split-second’s panic), then turned on the vibrator. Liquid let out a strangled cry in surprise - so it was good that Mantis was stifling his voice already…

“A-Ah, ghh, Mantis… fuck…” he groaned, his shoulders shaking almost in time to the buzz of the toy.

No point in asking if that felt good or not, Liquid wouldn’t be able to come up with an answer. Instead Mantis said, “that is only the lowest setting, you know.”

“Oh god, there’s _more?_ ” Liquid said, mostly in horror but there was a little excitement in there somewhere too, which Mantis supposed was a good sign.

“Mhm. We’re just getting started.”

Liquid was going to ask when they would be _done_ , but Mantis interrupted him before he could - the vibrator started pushing back and forth, shifting enough that it nudged against Liquid’s prostate, sending a jolt through his body. He whimpered again, his hands clenching and unclenching behind his back. His mind was a mess right now, too-detailed years-old memories clashing against thoughts of Mantis and how _different_ this was, how this worked up that crawling visceral thing in him without hurting him or exposing his shame to anyone besides the one who already knew.

“That’s right,” Mantis said softly, “this _is_ different, isn’t it?”

“Y- ha… y-yes…”

“Better?”

“I… I think so…”

The vibrations intensified. Liquid’s whole body tensed, his back arching a bit, and he moaned breathlessly. Mantis hushed him again. His moans died down to whines.

He traced a finger over Liquid’s bottom lip, and Liquid opened his mouth, just a bit, almost automatically. Mantis couldn’t resist slipping two fingers in.

“Suck,” he said.

Liquid’s lips closed around his fingers, and he sucked, pressing his tongue against them, not even thinking about it and just acting on reflexes that had been beaten into him in Iraq. He kept making little pleading sounds in his throat, vibrating against Mantis’ fingers, as the toy kept moving, angling to jab his prostate, and Liquid trembled.

“Good boy,” Mantis said again, his other hand returning to his hair. The vibrations intensified again.

Liquid was starting to relax a bit now, or to be more accurate his mind was starting to blank out. He was starting to resent how Mantis was ignoring his erection. Mantis sighed. He knew this was going to be an unsavory task from the moment he saw it in Liquid’s mind.

Still, he ignored Liquid’s increasingly insistent whines; he spread his fingers in Liquid’s mouth, opening it, feeling him drag his tongue between them, wetting them, and then Mantis pushed them in a little further.

“Gkk-“

The fuzzy blankness of Liquid’s mind disappeared. _Stop_ , he thought, _stop it, I can’t breathe!_

“You can breathe just fine,” Mantis said, pressing his fingers against his soft palate. Liquid made another gagging noise. “Eli…”

Liquid took a long, desperate breath through his nose, and only then did Mantis withdraw his fingers, drying them on the bedspread as Liquid coughed then wiping the saliva off the side of Liquid’s face. Liquid was panting. He didn’t even have it in him to be annoyed at Mantis for that little bit of dickery.

“Please,” he wheezed, and neither of them could tell if he was begging for release or reprieve.

He wouldn’t get either for now. The vibrator was removed, and Liquid shivered for a second, pressing his face against Mantis’ legs, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing thoughts, and then Mantis eased a marginally larger vibrator into him. It was already on. Liquid groaned, struggling against the ties at his wrists again.

“Eli, calm down.”

“Mnn…”

“Eli.”

“No- I don’t like-“

Fingers back in his mouth. Liquid started sucking them again, swallowing self-consciously. “Don’t even _think_ about biting me,” Mantis said as the thought crossed Liquid’s mind. Liquid whined out a wordless retort.

The whines turned to moans as Liquid started trying to pull away from the toy. Mantis braced his other hand on his lower back - not that he physically had the strength to stop Liquid from moving, but it did serve as a reminder to _behave himself._ Liquid stilled, apart from the tiny shivers running through his body. He kept thinking about how those Iraqi sons of bitches had repeatedly brought him to the edge of orgasm and then denied it him, just for the humiliating desperation it induced - and he kept pushing the thoughts away, and they kept returning with every throb of his aching dick.

_Mantis, please_ , he thought, with the same confusion as before, not knowing if he wanted all this to stop or keep going.

“You’re fine.”

_Please, oh god._

“You’re doing very well, Eli.”

_I made a mistake, asking you to do this. I don’t want-_ but he wasn’t sure. He shifted awkwardly on the bed, squirming away from Mantis, grimacing.

Mantis caught him easily, pulling him back to himself and cradling his head on his lap again. “Where do you think you’re going?” he said, in a rather bored tone of voice.

“Mantis, help,” Liquid whimpered, rubbing his cheek against Mantis’ leg.

He made a soft moan when Mantis started petting his hair again. He quieted down after a bit. Mantis narrowed his eyes.

The movement of the vibrator stopped, leaving it buzzing against Liquid’s prostate. He squirmed again. “Eli, don’t block it out.”

“Mnghh.”

He pulled his hair. “You heard me. Pay attention. It would defeat the purpose of all this nonsense if you block it out.”

“N-No, please, Mantis-”

“I told you not to argue with me, did I not?”

“Nn…”

The vibrator moved again, pulling halfway out. Mantis kept one hand in Liquid’s hair, the other one tracing his spine, up and down, feeling the muscles tense under his fingers. “Count every time it goes in, Eli. Don’t lose track.”

It thrust back in. “One,” Liquid choked out through gritted teeth. “T-Two.”

“Very good. Just like that.”

“Three…”

“Keep going until I say you may stop.”

“F… four. Five. Si- ahh- s-seven,” his legs twitched, and the cuffs of the spreader bar jangled against themselves, “eight. Nine. Ten- oh god- eleven- oh _god_ …”

“You are not done.”

“T-Twelve, ha, Mantis, I can’t take it-!”

“You are doing _fine_ , Eli,” Mantis said, brushing his hand over his ribs. “You can handle this.”

“I-It’s too much. Hand me over to Ocelot and let him torture me instead, anything. _Please_ , I c-can’t take this.”

“Hush. You forfeited your right to tap out. Now, start over.”

“…o-one. Two. Three. Oh, _fuck_...”

* * *

 Ejaculation was always kind of a coup de grâce. Not the others’, exactly - it was horribly disgusting, the way it squelched out of his bleeding, ravaged asshole, and was smeared across his chest and face, and dripped from his lips, mingling with saliva and bile. Made him want to throw up even though his throat and sinuses already burned. It was horribly sticky and slimy and even the _smell_ of it seemed to embed itself into his skin.

But it was his own that tore him apart. There was no pleasure in it, not even a base animal pleasure. It was just shameful.

He thought the six who had been aborted were the lucky ones.

* * *

 Liquid started hyperventilating when he figured out how large the last vibrator was - which was to say, not overly large, a bit thicker and longer than the average human penis but nothing his body couldn’t accommodate. Not that he realized that.

“M-Mantis, I’m serious, i-it’s too big- it’s going to tear m-my-“

“Shh, Eli, shh. Shh.” Mantis gently tugged on his hair with one hand, the other holding his wrists so he’d stop straining against the nylon rope. “It will not.”

“No, please, Mantis, listen to me, it’s happened before-“

“That is why I prepared your body for it. Why we started small-“

“No, n-no, please, Mantis-“

Mantis, running low on patience, pulled his hair until he winced and fell silent and still. “Eli,” he said, “do you really think I would hurt you?”

“…”

“Answer me, Eli.”

“…no. No, you… you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Then calm down, and relax.”

More whimpers as his ass stretched around the toy. Mantis knew it wasn’t actually painful for him - he had been nice and loosened up, and Mantis was generous with the lube - but he was cautious nonetheless. Liquid had understandably been in a really weird state of mind ever since this got underway, although by now it was reaching the point where Mantis was having difficulty parsing what was going on in his head.

And if Mantis, who was no more affected by the situation than the uncomfortable heat that had pooled in his stomach as he watched Liquid writhe in reluctant pleasure, was having difficulty figuring out if Liquid was actually all here and now mentally - it was no surprise that Liquid himself was pretty much completely out of it. He was unstuck in time, unsure of his location, with no idea if this was assault or a favor or if he should hate or love the person doing this to him.

He ended up fixating on Mantis’ presence, falling into a loop of whispering his name between gasps and groans. Sometimes his voice would take on an almost hysterical lilt - “Mantis? _Mantis?_ ” - as he forgot if Mantis was really there with him for sure or not.

“Hush,” Mantis would say, “I’m here.” And he would brush his hands through his hair, a thin link back to the present, where every last one those damned war criminals had already paid the ultimate price for daring to even _touch_ Liquid.

Eventually Liquid hit a point where the unrelieved pressure of arousal managed to make it through the chaos of his brain, and he started whining. “Mantis, please,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Shh.”

“Mantis, it hurts.”

He rubbed his thumb over his cheek. “I thought you could handle pain.”

“Not… not pain like this… please, Mantis. Mantis…”

He started violently when Mantis touched his dick. Within a few strokes he was groaning pathetically, overstimulated and overwhelmed. Mantis stopped again, reconsidering his options.

“I’m still here,” he said when Liquid let out a short whine. He pulled the vibrator out - Liquid shuddered - and returned it to the bag, then repositioned Liquid (mostly using his psychokinesis, but he kept his hands on him to steady him and not alarm him) so that instead of kneeling with his head in Mantis’ lap, he was sitting with his back pressed against Mantis’ chest. It was a much more convenient position for Mantis to reach around, undo the cock ring, and finish him off.

“Ah- ahh- Mantis-“

He put his other hand over Liquid’s mouth as Liquid rutted into his fist. Something about the absurdity of the situation really struck him here. Something about giving a disinterested handjob to your best friend when he honestly _should_ be seeing a professional therapist.

Not that Liquid would ever deign to do that.

Plus from what Mantis had seen, most disinterested handjobs didn’t involve nylon rope and spreader bars.

Liquid moaned loudly when he climaxed, although it was muffled, and his back arched and his legs shook, and Mantis’ hand was coated with semen and he had to suppress his immediate urge to shake it off like the disgusting slime it was. Instead he psychicked some tissues over to himself and wiped it off calmly, while Liquid collapsed bonelessly back against him, breathing hard and mind so fucked that if he were asked his own name right now, he wouldn’t even be able to answer.

Mantis dropped his hand from his mouth and waited for Liquid’s breathing and heartrate to return to something approaching normal. He kept stroking his hair where his head lolled against his shoulder - his mind was still playing catch-up with what just happened.

“Eli?” Mantis said softly after a minute.

“Mnh…”

“Do you know where you are right now?”

He didn’t answer. He kept thinking _Iraq_ but he knew that wasn’t right.

“Mm. Do you remember what you did to the men who raped you?”

There was a long pause before he said quietly, “I killed them.”

“Yes.” His fingers ran down from Liquid’s hair and ghosted across his jaw. “You did well, Eli.”

“Ha…”

“Sit up.”

Liquid did so without comment and with a little difficulty; he was both physically and emotionally exhausted, and had lost all interest in asking Mantis what he was doing if he didn’t know - which he didn’t, couldn’t make the tiny step in logic that Mantis was going to untie and uncuff him. The fact that Mantis was doing it at all barely registered with him. His only reaction, bodily and mentally, was to slowly bring his arms in front of him and rub his wrists. He’d managed to bruise them with his periodic struggling, but the cloth had at least prevented the rope from scraping at his skin.

Mantis took off the blindfold last, moving around to sit in front of him and removing it with his hands. Liquid blinked, squinting, several times once it was off, and Mantis could just barely see that his eyelashes were clumped together from tears only barely shed.

Liquid stared at him wordlessly for a while. A blanket dropped around his shoulders, and it took him a moment before he realized it was there and grasped it with shaking hands, pulling it around himself.

“Thank you,” he said eventually. His voice was very soft, and rather flat.

Mantis slowly nodded once. He really did hate seeing Liquid like this. It was worse to think that this time, it was intentionally induced.

“Are you going to go now?” Liquid asked, and there was nothing - not in his tone of voice, his body language, or his thoughts - that indicated whether he wanted Mantis to stay or leave. He was simply asking.

Mantis sighed, then took his face in his hands and nuzzled it, the closest he could come to a kiss with his mask still on. “No.”

“Will you… stay until morning?” And there was a vague feeling of, _I’d like that_.

“Yes, of course.”

And Liquid just sat there, staring blankly. He probably would have done that for hours until he came at least a little to his senses, had Mantis not decided then to settle in for the night. He laid down in Liquid’s bed and, with a gentle pull at his shoulders, got Liquid to lie down next to him. (Sort of next to him. Liquid was using Mantis’ ribcage as a pillow. Mantis didn’t mind. He put one arm around his shoulders, and with the other hand - petting his hair, of course.)

He tried to think of something to say. This was Liquid at his absolute most vulnerable, and this was the _crucial_ part of this whole foray into extreme discomfort. Whatever Mantis said to him here would, in all likelihood, more or less dictate the entire path the rest of his recovery would go from here on out.

“Eli?” he said again at length.

“Mantis…” He sounded so tired.

For a moment the only sound in the room was the breath hissing through Mantis’ gas mask. Then he told the truth.

“They never broke you.”

* * *

 He woke up in a veterans' hospital in London with Mantis holding his hand.

* * *

Liquid tried to piece together last night before he opened his eyes. It didn’t work so well. Most of it was pretty hazy and it almost seemed like a dream, or it had happened to someone else, or something.

“That is to be expected,” Mantis said.

Liquid sat up quickly, the blanket sliding off his upper torso. “You’re awake?”

“I did not sleep.” Mantis also sat up. “But I did stay here all night, like I said I would.”

Liquid’s jaw worked. He felt awkward. “Sorry to bore you.”

“I was keeping an eye on your dreams.” He paused. “They weren’t particularly interesting.”

“Hm.” Liquid looked away deliberately. “A nice change of pace from nightmares, anyway.”

“Yes. I’m glad.”

There was an uncomfortably pregnant pause, then Mantis patted Liquid on the head. Liquid was tempted to snap at him, but didn’t.

“I’m sorry you had to see any of that,” he said.

“It was nothing new to me. I’ve already seen every bit of that garbage bin you call a mind, after all.”

Liquid couldn’t help but laugh at that. And behind his mask, Mantis smiled at _that_.

* * *

 He’d survive this, though, of course he would.

Was there ever any doubt?


End file.
